Scavenge the Stars (Scavenge the Stars #1)(21)

The Slum King continued to survey him through his cigarillo smoke. “Why?”

“I…I need the money.”

“You’ll end up losing more than you gain. Desperation makes for poor decisions. You didn’t fold when you needed to, and you didn’t cheat when you had to. You’ve lost my trust, Cayo.”

Once, these words would have devastated him. Now they just filled him with a sense of panic. His only chance was slipping away.

“Please.” He couldn’t hide the urgency in his voice. Cayo was unwilling to draw Soria into this, but it was better to be truthful with the Slum King than get caught out in a lie. “I need medicine I can’t afford. For ash fever. Please, I’ll do anything.”

The Slum King paused at this, cigarillo halfway to his lips. He toyed with his knife, spinning it in his fingers. Then, finally, he snapped it closed.

“Anything,” Salvador repeated, the word slow and wicked on his tongue. It poured out like pomegranate syrup into a glass of Blood and Sand, a drink so sweet it disguised how strong the alcohol in it was until it came over you like a wave.

Salvador rapped his knuckles on the desk. The door to the office opened, and one of his staff members leaned in.

“Fetch my daughter.” When the man withdrew, the Slum King turned back to Cayo, a thin smile playing at his lips. There was no hiding the hint of cruelty in that smile, nor the hunger in his eyes.

“It seems people are always coming to me to tell me what they want, not what they can offer me. I’ll give you the money you need, but it won’t be won at the tables.”

“What do you mean?” Cayo asked, his shoulders tense. Whatever game the Slum King was playing, he didn’t know the rules.

Before the Slum King could answer, Romara herself strutted in. She was dressed all in black today, her bodice low-cut and formfitting, with long tapered sleeves smudged with dust and glitter. Her skirt was plump with tulle and torn lace, her boot heels so sharp they could likely kill a man. In fact, Cayo was willing to bet they had.

“I see the puppy is back,” she said, quickly readjusting her breasts and fanning out her skirt. She blinked lashes spidery and limp with mascara at him. He’d seen her do the same thing a million times before, but it sent a flicker of worry through him now. She was on full alert. “Is he going to play again?”

“Hardly.” The Slum King sat back, crossing his arms with that same catlike smile on his marked face. “He’s just become your fiancé.”

Romara’s smile froze in place.

Cayo tried to laugh, but only a dry cough came out. “You can’t be serious.”

The Slum King eyed him through a veil of smoke. “You’ll marry my daughter and give her—and by extension, me—the status we deserve in this wretched city.”

Cayo’s whole body went cold. Marry the Slum King’s daughter?

Marry Romara?

The thought was so absurd it didn’t seem plausible. It wasn’t just the way she drank to the point of becoming feral; as smart as she was, a sharp cruelty ran through her very being. He knew how she enjoyed letting her father’s men deal with those she didn’t favor. He had once seen a young man dragged out of a gambling den for accidentally spilling his drink on Romara’s favorite dress. His bloated body had been washed ashore two days later.

“No,” Cayo said. “Absolutely not.” Romara looked as shocked as he felt. Cayo had spent enough time with Romara to know what was an act and what was real, how she determined what pawns to sacrifice in the ongoing game of power she played with her father. And she wasn’t acting now.

“You want to marry one of my sons instead? I’ll warn you, they’re both dense as rocks.”

“I’m not marrying anybody!”

“Do you want the money, Cayo?” Salvador’s voice had gone soft, his eyes half-lidded. Cayo shuddered, knowing the first stage of the Slum King’s rage when he saw it.

Of course he wanted the money. He needed it. Soria needed it.

But Romara…

“Ash fever isn’t cheap,” the Slum King continued, tapping stray embers off the end of his cigarillo. “And from what I hear, without medication the disease advances rather quickly.”

Cayo was having trouble breathing. But the Slum King was right. Soria was dying. Every minute he wasted here was a minute she was suffering back at home.

He needed the medicine.

He had no choice.

Cayo glanced at Romara again, and their eyes locked. Sometimes, when he wasn’t quite expecting it, he glimpsed a girl who wanted more than what her father had made of her. But she hid that girl under heavy makeup and a vicious grin, always playing the game she knew best, the one that was her family’s true inheritance: manipulation.

She gave him a barely perceivable nod. Understanding that he had to follow whatever act she had in store, he inclined his head slightly.

When he nodded in acceptance to the Slum King, Romara squealed and plopped down on his lap, nuzzling his head with hers. She smelled like sweat and dying roses.

“I’ll be the best wife,” she purred, tracing circles over his chest. “I can’t cook or clean, but I’m good at other things.” She was enjoying this far too much for his comfort.

“I…I’ll need time,” Cayo croaked. “To arrange it with my father. Romara needs to be properly introduced, a contract needs to be signed, a dowry secured….”